Spirit Charmer
by ellerean
Summary: It was difficult enough when Pelleas learned he was prince, but being carted to the desert to plan Daein's restoration is another story in itself. Amid learning what it means to be royalty and planning a war, all Pelleas wants is to learn about himself and to love his country.


Nevassa was a different city from atop the balcony. Beyond the courtyard, over the castle walls, it was life as usual in the slums. Children frolicked unaccompanied in the streets, many of which didn't have a home to return to. Laborers carried heavy loads on their shoulders, whether it were timber or meat, shouting to one another or to the orphans.

_So this is where my father stood_, Pelleas thought, standing at the balcony. The slums hadn't looked so peaceful when he was among them, many years ago.

The orphanage hadn't been a bad place. At least he had shelter and enough food that he hadn't starved. And he didn't have to steal too much, either. He looked down at his new, blue robes, and the heavy, regal cape over his shoulders. _Over twenty years ago_, he thought, _this was my father's domain. The king of Daein._

It still felt like a dream. Maybe one day he would awake on his lumpy mattress, surrounded by the cries of fellow orphans.

"Pelleas, dear." Lady Almedha—_Mother_, he was meant to call her—appeared at his side. She was beautiful; he looked nothing like her. Mother had sworn he was all his father. "Are you ready to go? Lord Izuka is surely waiting for us in the desert."

Lord Izuka, his savior. The man who had tracked him down and brought him home.

Pelleas regretted that they could not stay home long, though. As far as the public was aware, King Ashnard _had_ no successor. But he was in constant danger now that the news had been leaked: _A secret prince of Daein! Heir to the Mad King Ashnard! _In time, Lord Izuka had told him, he would be able to prove himself. Like all citizens of Daein, he was familiar with the reign of old Daein—the rise of King Ashnard, the fabled Four Riders. But ever since the king had been defeated by those dirty Crimeans, Daein had been thrown into chaos. Lord Izuka had found him just in time.

He followed Lady Almedha through Daein Keep, and it took all his self-control not to stare admirably at his surroundings yet again. This palace was _home_; this is where he would rule. But not yet. Many citizens were still bitter over the way King Ashnard ruled the country, and they certainly wouldn't give a warm welcome to his son. At least, that's what Lord Izuka said. Pelleas was inclined to agree.

The caravan was not ready yet; servants were still piling belongings and rations into the carriage. Pelleas immediately moved to pick up a crate when Lady Almedha grabbed his wrist.

"My son, this work is beneath you. We have servants for that. Come, sit in the carriage with Mother."

He watched from the carriage as the servants packed up, feeling guilty for his inability to help. Wouldn't an additional pair of hands get them on the road faster? But in no time they were off, bouncing along the road toward the desert.

Pelleas would have loved to watch the country—_his_ country—go by as they traveled, but Mother was adamant about not opening the carriage drapes. No one knew his face yet, but his attire would give him away in an instant. The caravan itself was not comprised of royal carriages; they were bleak and dirty like any commoner's. The servants had lined the interior of his personal carriage with fine silk, by the queen's orders. It didn't make the splintered wood any more comfortable, but Pelleas liked running a hand across the fabric.

He was anxious to get to the desert. Mother said they were to hide in a nondescript location while he and Lord Izuka planned the revolution. Daein had been under Begnion control for too long, and it was up to him to take it back. _Him!_ Pelleas automatically felt for the dark tome beneath his robes. He was still uncomfortable with his magic skills, but the spirit would guide him. He would need all the guidance he could get.

He had fallen asleep during the ride, and woke to the grind of sluggish wheels through the sands. Before he opened his eyes, he felt Lady Almedha's fingertips brushing his brow, tracing his hairline. It was an unusual sensation, this sort of gentle human contact.

"We're here," she announced, as the carriage settled to a stop.

Pelleas opened the carriage door and dropped down, his feet sinking in the sand. Mother and Lord Izuka reprimanded him at once. _You are a prince! You do not open your own door! The prince of Daein, trudging through the sand like a common servant! _But he _liked_ walking through the desert unaccompanied, feeling his weight sink with every step. He had never been to a desert. It was so vast, so dry, and so . . . beige.

"My prince, my prince!" Lord Izuka grabbed his elbow at once, guiding him toward the ruins. "Come, we must not be seen!" After the long trip Pelleas would have preferred to stand outside a spell longer, but duty called.

There were several Daein soldiers guarding the ruins that were meant to be his refuge. One of them, General Tauroneo, was a former Rider of Daein, and he immediately felt comforted by the older man's presence. The other two, Jill and Zihark, looked to be common citizens, but they held a ferocity in their eyes. Lady Almedha explained that they had been in the war, and were now dedicated to rebuilding their homeland.

"Prince Pelleas," Zihark said, bending on one knee, and Pelleas awkwardly fumbled through his thank you.

"We will do all we can to rebuild our country," Jill said.

As they began to settle into the refuge, Pelleas thought he would never have a moment alone. He was grateful when the night fell, when Lord Izuka finally decided they were done for the day. Pelleas felt they hadn't accomplished much, but Mother insisted that preparations were an important part of reclamation. It included a lot of plans that he didn't understand, but he was grateful for Lord Izuka's expertise.

Lady Almedha insisted that they retire to the same small, barren room, and Pelleas pretended to doze as she prepared for sleep. He rolled over, staring at the wall, and listened for his mother's deep, steady breathing. He already knew that she was a light sleeper, so it would be difficult to sneak out of the room. Thank the goddess that the building was stone—there were no creaking wooden floors to give him away—and that the winds constantly whistled through the open windows. His careful movements blended with the sounds of the desert as he slipped out undetected, his tome tucked under his arm.

There was no better place to practice magic than out in the desert, where any errors would go unnoticed. Surely Lord Izuka thought of that, knowing that he was a spirit charmer. Pelleas walked out behind the ruins, far enough that no one would see him, but he could easily find his way back in the dark. The desert was cold—he should have thought to bring his cloak—but the moment he opened the tome a familiar warmth spread through his limbs.

He closed his eyes. "Spirit of the unknown, hear my cry, and strengthen my soul."

His master had said the spirit took to him easily because he was weak. Admittedly, this was embarrassing at first. But when he felt the darkness curling at his feet, spreading upward through him, he was grateful for his weakness.

"My body is an empty vessel, open to your teachings. Guide me, O spirit, protect me from this world."

He opened his eyes. Nightfall had been dark, but not like this. He was vaguely aware of the new darkness, of the otherworldly hues of pinks and deep purples. He held out his arms. "Spirit, fill me with your strength." It felt like bolts of lightning coursing through his arms, sparking at his fingertips.

"My liege! My prince!" At once, the darkness fell. Pelleas stood along among the sands, arms outstretched, lifting his head to the naked sky.

"Oh, hello, Lord Izuka," he said, turning toward the haggard old man.

"You mustn't wander off!" he cried, grasping Pelleas's arm.

"It's all right, Lord Izuka. The spirit protects me."

"Pah! Only _I _can protect you! Come, come, before your mother notices you're gone!"

Pelleas risked a glance over his shoulder as Lord Izula forcibly pulled him to the ruins. He hadn't expected anything to remain of the spirit, but it startled him nonetheless. He was certain there had been an aura around him, but now there was nothing at all? _The spirit works in mysterious ways_, he thought, climbing the stairs to his quarters.

Lord Izuka and Mother were the only ones who knew of his mark. He couldn't share his spirit's protection with the others, else they think he was Branded. But he wanted so much to share his experiences with others. All through the meetings in the coming weeks, he was recognized as little but a title. Pelleas constantly looked toward Zihark and Jill; they were closer to his age than the others, and surely they had seen indescribable things in the war. Wouldn't they understand? But he never had a moment alone, even at night. Lord Izuka had a guard keep watch over his room, "for his protection," but even he could see through his veiled lies.

Pelleas was unable to sleep. Mother had insisted that he lie down, but the moment she'd drifted to sleep he stood to stare out the weathered window. Time passed so slowly. It felt they'd been refugees in the desert years now, even though it had only been a matter of weeks.

Suddenly, he heard murmured voices outside their door and crept over to eavesdrop.

"Are you certain?" the guard asked.

"Yes, yes. Take the night off. You've worked much too hard. Allow me to guard tonight." That was Zihark's voice; he was sure of it.

He listened to the retreating footsteps, and the moment they faded down the stairs the door cracked open. Pelleas jumped back when Zihark's head popped into the room, smiling.

"Well, come on, Your Highness," he whispered. "Freedom awaits."

Pelleas glanced at his mother. "I'm not sure . . ."

"Do not fear, my prince. You are with a trusted mercenary. No harm will befall you."

Pelleas grabbed his cloak.

Zihark pressed a finger to his lips as they tiptoed down the stairs, though he didn't need the warning to keep quiet. Surely Lord Izuka never slept, and it was likely he currently occupied one of the many rooms in the ruins. But Zihark guided them out without seeing anyone at all. Pelleas wondered if their route had been prearranged.

He breathed in the cold, night air as they slipped outside, grateful to be freed from the confines of the ruins. Zihark smiled casually as Pelleas stepped into the desert, watching the sand engulf his feet.

"I thought you needed some time off," Zihark said, as they walked farther into the desert. "We've been working you ragged."

"Not at all!" he replied hastily, inclining his head. "I'll do whatever I can to aid in the restoration."

"Mmm." Zihark took a turn, as if he had a sense of direction in this barren wasteland, and led them to an outcrop of rock. He swiftly climbing up and extending a hand. After a brief hesitation, the prince accepted and was pulled up beside him.

The wind ruffled his hair and Pelleas huddled within his cloak. The hair on his arms stood on end, but he wasn't bothered by the chill at all.

"Something on your mind, Prince?" Zihark asked.

It felt like the first time Pelleas had smiled in weeks. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Zihark chuckled and he leaned back against the rock, lifting his head to the moonlit sky. "Something besides the fate of Daein, that is. Pardon the intrusion, but you seem more preoccupied than most during those meetings."

"Yes, I am." He was alarmed by how quickly he answered, but he felt an ineffable trust in Zihark. Like he, too, had a secret burning within him. "To be honest, I wish I had more time to study my magic."

"Why, that should be easy. I'm sure Izuka wouldn't be opposed brushing up on your self-defense."

"It's not that . . ." He trailed off. He was conscious of Zihark staring at him, watching him, and he blurted out, "I'm a spirit charmer."

"No kidding! I've never met one of those."

Pelleas hadn't realized how tense his muscles had been until they suddenly relaxed. "Please don't tell anyone. Lord Izuka says it should remain a secret, in case anyone mistakes my mark for a Brand." He looked quickly at Zihark's face, but it remained stoic. There was a slight twitch of his jaw, nothing more.

"You don't need to call that man 'lord,'" Zihark said, finally smiling again. "He's no nobility."

"Ah." Pelleas flushed. "That was how he introduced himself to me."

"Of course he did." Zihark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bent knees. "You don't have to call anyone anything. You're the prince—You call them whatever you want."

"I have a lot to learn," Pelleas said with a sigh.

A new sound rose amidst the desert winds, and they both looked toward the sky. Pelleas was anxious at first until he recognized the green wyvern, the red ponytail streaming from its rider. Zihark raised an arm in greeting as Jill eased down, jumping off before the wyvern landed.

"Prince Pelleas!" She climbed up on the rock. "Zihark, you're a bad influence. His Majesty shouldn't be out at this hour."

"Zihark is a trusted mercenary," Pelleas said, and smiled when they both laughed in reply.

"Hey, wait," Zihark said, pointing a finger at Jill, "_You're_ not supposed to find that funny."

"I know you well enough," she said, sitting at his feet. "What other lies have you told our noble prince?"

Pelleas didn't partake in their banter, but he enjoyed listening. He wished that he'd brought his tome along, for it would be safe to practice his magic in front of these two. But perhaps he didn't need it: Zihark was teasing Jill about some man back home—wherever "home" was—and Pelleas closed his eyes, envisioning the spirit surrounding him. No, he didn't need the tome. He would need it if he planned to fight, certainly, but when his skin had been marked, the spirit came with it. A warmth grew from within his chest, soothing him. He was already comforted by the presence of these soldiers, and the spirit did not have to work as hard. He could feel its relief. He smiled.

"Your Majesty?" The feminine voice sounded far away. He held out a hand, feeling the spirit crawl over his skin. He was untroubled.

"Yes, Jill." He opened his eyes.

"We thought you fell asleep on us," Zihark said.

"Nothing like that." He felt no need to elaborate. "But I should be going back."

"That is a great idea," Jill said, glaring at Zihark as she jumped off the rock. "Want a ride on my beastie? It's not far, and flying out here is a thrill."

He looked to the wyvern, who seemed to be looking back expectedly. Pelleas shared a smile with Zihark and Jill, the warmth flooding through him. "Why not?"


End file.
